Christopher Hitchens

Royals Flushed

Why Kitty Kelley's book on Britain's royal family has a lot of people upset.

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Wednesday’s publication date approached for Kitty Kelley’s book “The Royals,” which might without exaggeration be described as “long-awaited,” there was a sudden burst of Schadenfreude. Ha, ha, Kitty and Warner Books have been caught with their knickers down, scoffed David Streitfeld, who covers the publishing industry for the Washington Post. He meant that the awful death of Princess Diana had come too late to alter or update the book, of which 1 million copies had already been printed, packed and shrink-wrapped.

Nor could the book be rushed into the stores quickly enough to meet the avid demand for royal reading material, other commentators remarked. Book distributors operate on the kaiser’s railway timetables, and can’t be hurried along on their glacial pace. So sucks to Kelley and her outdated book stuck in a traffic jam.

Then People magazine canceled its proposed serialization of the book, saying that it wanted to give more space to its “own” writers on the subject. Since they were still paying Kelley the full whack of $25,000, as per contract, this must count as one of the more expensive attempts on record for a magazine to buy space in its own pages. Cold feet on People’s editorial floor — so many sources tell me — became even more chilly after the queen’s post-crash speech to the British nation. There is little to rival the spectacle of a gossip magazine when it suddenly turns deferential and fears to give offense or — don’t even think about it — intrude on privacy.

The laugh is more likely on the skeptics. “The Royals” is being transported to fine American bookstores as I write, and the public fervor for all things royal since the death of Diana and the Windsors’ bone-headed responses to it shows little sign of abating. It is only a pity that the queen’s own subjects won’t be able to read it in the comfort of their own homes. Eyeing Britain’s swinging libel laws, Time Warner’s lawyers mandated that no copies of “The Royals” will be shipped to British bookstores, and that no British journalist will be granted interviews with the author. Everyone is walking on eggshells, including the normally avaricious British newspapers, which have been reduced to “deriding” the book without actually telling its readers what’s in it. Even Kelley, perhaps on the advice of her attorneys, has replaced the National Anthem on her answering machine with a more suitably sober message.

I, however, already have a copy. It is on my desk, looking up at me, in its blue-and-gold cover, with all the allure of contraband. On your behalf, ladies and gentleman, I have perused it and can bring you the first unexpurgated look.

First off, contrary to alarums in certain quarters, few hearts will stop beating as a result of Kelley’s 502-page efforts. “The Royals,” for the most part, is a compendium of all the critical material already out there on the House of Windsor. If nothing else, it means you can purge your shelves of a lot of junk books that have been published, without any apparent trouble from the majesty of the law, in the past few years.

How reliable is it? Kelley names her sources when she can, conceals their identity where she feels necessary, passes on some rumors and scotches some others. Writing from an American perspective, Kelley is chiefly amused at the absurd British national desire for a fairy-tale monarchy that is, at the same time, made up of people “just like us, really.” For example, she wryly notes:

“At the wedding, the Archbishop of Canterbury declared the ceremony for Princess Elizabeth was ‘exactly the same as it would be for any cottager who might be married this afternoon in some small country church’ … The differences: the twelve wedding cakes at the royal reception, including one nine feet high that Philip cut with his sword, 2,666 wedding presents, including a Thoroughbred horse, a mink coat, a 54-four carat pink diamond said to be one of its kind in the world, and a plantation and a hunting lodge in Kenya.”

Kelley provides a hilarious account of Princess Margaret’s difficulties with political correctness, especially when it necessitates being polite to Irish, Jewish or dusky persons. And an early, non-gossipy chapter is particularly enlightening on the Windsors’ attempt to live down — actually to conceal — their German connection and some of its more embarrassing ramifications. How lucky they were that Hitler bombed Buckingham Palace, enabling them to rehabilitate their image as well as their home from the damage.

Equally lucky for the realm, according to Kelley, was that medical means were found to remedy the hydraulic difficulties of Queen Elizabeth’s father, George VI (whether he was impotent or merely erectorally challenged is not stated);
that the ghastly, Nazi-sympathizing Edward VIII chose to abdicate; that
Prince Philip survived the queen’s outsized appetites while his own outside interests, of both sexes, remained suitably discreet; and very
lucky that a certain John Barratt, who was Lord Mountbatten’s private secretary for 20 years who excoriated the queen, died in 1993, before the royal myth started to seriously shatter.

On the other hand, the reigning Windsors have been highly unlucky marrying off their own children, especially when they tried to marry them off to anybody who could conceivably be called “a breath of fresh air.” Fergie, the Duchess of York, may have drawn many a deep breath, but fresh air doesn’t seem to be what she took into her tiny lungs. Everybody says she will sue Kitty Kelley, or anyone else making such an insinuation in print — she even says so herself — but I don’t personally believe it.

What fresh, distressing revelations of the late Princess of Wales? Readers can relax; there is very little new. Some of the predictions of disaster, made by her mother for example, now read rather eerily. And the meeting between the princess and Leah Rabin may give some readers a frisson, with the widow of the Israeli prime minister telling her, “I feel a great kinship to you because you and I are the most tragic figures in the world. Except that you have a future, and I have only a past.” As for raw meat, there are hints in the book that the actual subject of the missing 10 minutes of the famous “Squidgy” tapes of amorous phone calls between Princess Diana and James Gilbey were onanistic in nature.

Asking not long ago whether the British should retain the monarchy, the New York Times replied in an unusually unequivocal editorial, “The American answer is simple. Of course they should keep it — for our amusement.” But in the U.K., Kitty Kelley’s book has been anticipated with snarls and groans, as if a new flood of calumny was about to burst over the tattered dynasty. It is, in fact, written more in the spirit of that Times editorial. And, at a time when the British tell the pollsters they want changes that are simply not on offer — like an informal populist monarchy presided over by Prince William — we might as well read a single narrative that shows us how the British got to where they got, from where, and how this makes them look to others.

Even if, before reading “The Royals,” you thought that it was a good idea to pick your head of state from the gene pool of just one family, you would close the book realizing that to fish from this particular pool was a deeply serious mistake.

Guess what, the bombing worked like a charm

The antiwar hand-wringers kept warning us of its perils. But as the Taliban despots flee Afghan cities, and their citizens cheer, the air war's stunning efficacy is clear for all to see

There was a time in my life when I did a fair bit of work for the tempestuous Lucretia Stewart, then editor of the American Express travel magazine Departures. Together, we evolved a harmless satire of the slightly driveling style employed by the journalists of tourism. “Land of Contrasts” was our shorthand for it. (“Jerusalem: an enthralling blend of old and new.” “South Africa: a harmony in black and white.” “Belfast, where ancient meets modern.”) It was, as you can see, no difficult task. I began to notice a few weeks ago that my enemies in the “peace” movement had decided to borrow from this tattered stylebook. Their mantra was: “Afghanistan, where the world’s richest country rains bombs on the world’s poorest country.”

Poor fools. They should never have tried to beat me at this game. What about, “Afghanistan, where the world’s most open society confronts the world’s most closed one”? “Where American women pilots kill the men who enslave women.” “Where the world’s most indiscriminate bombers are bombed by the world’s most accurate ones.” “Where the largest number of poor people applaud the bombing of their own regime.” I could go on. (I think No. 4 may need a little work.) But there are some suggested contrasts for the “doves” to paste into their scrapbook.

Incidentally, when they look at their scrapbooks they will be able to reread themselves saying things like, “The bombing of Kosovo is driving the Serbs into the arms of Milosevic.”

If the silly policy of a Ramadan pause had been adopted, the citizens of Kabul would have still been under a regime of medieval cruelty, and their oppresssors would have been busily regrouping, not praying. Anyhow, what a damn-fool proposal to start with. I don’t stop insulting the Christian coalition at Easter time. Come Yom Kippur I tend to step up my scornful remarks about Zionism. Whatever happened to the robust secularism that used to characterize the left? And why is it suddenly only the injured feelings of Muslims that count?

A couple of years ago, the same people were striking pompous attitudes about the need to avoid offending Serbian and therefore Russian Orthodox sensitivities. Except that those sensitive people, or their leaders, were engaged in putting the Muslims of Europe to the sword.

There’s no pleasing some people, but as a charter supporter of the nuclear disarmament campaign, I can remember a time when the peace movement was not an auxiliary to dictators and aggressors in trouble. Looking at some of the mind-rotting tripe that comes my way from much of today’s left, I get the impression that they go to bed saying: What have I done for Saddam Hussein or good old Slobodan or the Taliban today?

Well, ha ha ha. It was obvious from the very start that the United States had no alternative but to do what it has done. It was also obvious that defeat was impossible. The Taliban will soon be history. Al-Qaida will take longer. There will be other mutants to fight. But if, as the peaceniks like to moan, more bin Ladens spring up to take his place, I can offer this assurance: Should that be the case, there are many, many more who will also spring up to kill him all over again. And there are more of us and we are both smarter and nicer, as well as surprisingly insistent that our culture demands respect, too.

Reprinted with permission from the London Guardian.

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President Clinton: Thumbs down!

In his eight disgraceful years, he's squandered our time while lowering the standards for all public officials.

If it were not for William Jefferson Clinton, that overrated and under-written speech by George W. Bush in Philadelphia would have been over before it began. Imagine: An ignorant and spoiled mediocrity opens his acceptance address by comparing himself to George Washington! Only a few years ago, such a comparison, even offered in jest, would have invited ridicule and contempt. (Recall what happened when even the popular Ronald Reagan described the Contra bandits in Nicaragua as the moral equivalent of our Founding Fathers.) But this time, no one dares to challenge such a piece of flagrant profanity. George W. is free to taunt away because he knows the Democrats dare not raise the issue of character or stature. And he is free to drape his dismal program in the camouflage (part Special Olympics and part gorgeous mosaic or Rainbow Coalition) of correctness. Why not? It worked for the last cynic who tried it. Like Clinton, Bush hopes to get good press for getting good press.

It’s almost impossible to distill all one’s dislike of Clinton into one valedictory article, but this is the moment to try. In the past eight years, he has hugely shrunk the area of the possible while greatly expanding the area of the thinkable. When he took office, there was everything to play for with Russia and China, and a real chance for serious disarmament. Our first post-Cold War president now faces us with a renewed missile race, even more expensive and inefficient than its predecessor, and a sterile confrontation with post-Communist authoritarians with whom he is otherwise on much too easy terms.

But then, when he took office, the idea that a sitting president would rent the Lincoln bedroom to the nearest bidder was also a remote one to most people. Washington was to belong to those who worked hard and played by the rules, not to the Riadys and Tamrazes and the other riffraff to whom (through the agency of the lovely Dick Morris) this president repeatedly sold his office.

In between, and taking up much more of his real commitment and energy than any reform program, we have had a president who, while in office, has had to settle a sexual harassment suit to the tune of nearly a million bucks, has had to face disbarment for lying to a federal judge, has been cited by another judge for a criminal violation of the Privacy Act, and has been plausibly accused of rape. To the suggestion that he induced the aforesaid Mr. Riady, emissary of the Indonesian military dictatorship, to use some of his funny money to pay off a disgraced and imprisoned deputy attorney general, the former master of detail and king of the briefing book now pleads total amnesia.

This is how our time and opportunity has been squandered since 1992. There are those who might want to plead that the economy is sound, but they have Alan Greenspan’s policy to thank for that, as Clinton is, by his endless deference to the man, the first to admit. And if you wanted Greenspan, with all his orthodoxy about unemployment inflation and corporatism, you could have voted for George W(ashington)’s daddy to begin with. Only he would not have asked you to keep quiet, lest you jeopardize his plan for national health care.

Covering Clinton in New Hampshire in 1992, I concluded (and wrote) that he was stop-at-nothing ruthless, that he was exorbitantly lousy about political money, that he was a near-pathological liar and that he was exceptionally foul in his relations with women. I haven’t had to take anything back. Three things about his record still strike me as monstrous. And the silence of liberals on these three points still strikes me as degrading:

1) The execution of Rickey Ray Rector. Lobotomized by his own bullet, this disabled black convict did not understand either his trial or his sentence. Executed by Clinton to draw attention from the Gennifer Flowers flap (about which he also lied) Rector outdoes Willie Horton by every definition of racist grandstanding. His snuffing was not just an election tactic, bad enough though that would have been. In power, Clinton fast-tracked capital punishment to the point where even Republican governors and legislatures have had to try and slow it down.

2) The wag-the-dog bombing of Sudan. Nobody in the political, military or intelligence establishment any longer pretends that the target hit by Clinton in August 1998 was anything but a medical facility. And few pretended even at the time. But something had to be hit in the week of Monica Lewinsky’s return to the grand jury, and Clinton borrowed the movie lines of Michael Douglas from the film “The American President” in order to justify the atrocity. A truly chilling Strangelove moment.

3) The rape of Juanita Broaddrick. This woman’s allegations check out at every point where they can be tested (and are corroborated, in my recent book, by the similar testimony of at least two other women). Clinton refuses to comment, and refused even to help NBC when it tried to establish his alibi for the relevant day. Again, he seems to have counted — successfully — on decent people’s reluctance to face the possibility that such a thing could be true.

The president needs therapy, as even his awful wife has conceded. But this does not excuse the gruesome apologists who have told us that his problems should be kept private. The Oval Office private? It belongs to the people. The Lincoln bedroom, private? The Justice Department, a private law firm? Those who defended Clinton in this way did not just avert their eyes from corruption, violence and injustice, and to the use of state power to slander and defame female witnesses who turned out to be telling the truth. They invented excuses for power that we can be sure his successors will eagerly employ. Did you see the White House claiming that George (W)ashington had borrowed Clinton’s vapid lines for his successful speech? Are these hacks so dumb that they don’t know what they are acknowledging? The fact is that Clintonism has set a lower bar for political obscenity of all kinds, and that we are all the losers for it. All this — and Starr wars, too.

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You call this a free election?

The international community sends watchdogs to monitor foreign elections -- that's just what America needs in 2000.

Some things may be true even if Pat Buchanan says them: The inescapable fact is that the 2000 presidential election has so far been a rigged affair, bearing more resemblance to a plebiscite in some banana republic than to anything recognizable as a democratic contest.

The entry of Buchanan as a supposed “insurgent” presidential candidate is itself part of the prearrangement and manipulation. Here we have a loyal Beltway veteran, grown like a mold on the dank sponge of the national security state, and well-known to the powers that be as someone absolutely reliable. He’s already shown himself quite willing to play the game of slush funds and matching funds. There’s your designated dissident. Just for fun, why not set him up against Donald Trump for the Reform Party nomination, so that even the supposed outsider faction can replicate the only allowable division in American politics — that between machine-produced clones on the one hand and nutball narcissistic tycoons on the other.

A genuine foe of oligarchy like Ronnie Dugger, co-chair of the organization Alliance for Democracy, with his reasoned case for the public financing of campaigns, really does seem like a quixotic loony to our consensual press. (And since he doesn’t manifest any obvious nostalgia for, say, the Third Reich, he doesn’t even count as a colorful character for style section purposes.)

The brave volunteers of Public Campaign and the Alliance for Democracy took their protest to the Capitol steps recently, but the Washington Post ignored the rally, where the largest groups of attendees were high-school students not yet inured to cynicism and not yet old enough to vote. The defeat of the rather tepid McCain-Feingold initiative in the Senate, which was the proximate cause of the protest, also marked the eclipse of any remaining hope for a fair or open race next year.

The fix is in: The special interests will pretend to have an election, and you, if you choose, can pretend to vote in it. The only recourse I can see is an appeal to the international community and the United Nations, to send accredited observers to monitor the process.

The United States loves nothing better than to certify other countries’ ballots as “free and fair,” so there can hardly be any principled objection to a delegation of monitors, from democratic nations, taking up position, pens in hand, as America makes its “choice.” Indeed, given the awful power of the U.S. president and Congress over the affairs of other nations, it’s surprising that this hasn’t been suggested already.

Here are some of the questions that the U.N. and international monitors would have to consider before validating the 2000 election:

1) Has there already been the open purchase of votes, as seemed to be the acknowledged case in the href="/news/feature/1999/08/16/straw/index.html">Iowa straw poll?

2) Has there already been the open purchase of candidates, as is implied by the immense (and, in point of the source of donations) largely secret fund amassed by Texas Gov. George W. Bush?

3) Are there restrictions placed on the entry of third-party or independent candidates? Have these restrictions been imposed by a collusion of the existing parties?

4) Are there impediments to the placing of minority parties on ballots?

5) Are there impediments to voter registration?

6) Is access to the media fairly apportioned as between candidates and parties, irrespective of wealth?

7) Do the laws barring convicted felons from voting constitute discrimination against any minority group?

8) Does the allotment of federal matching funds constitute a subsidy to a duopoly?

These questions are not exhaustive. I have not, for example, included the misgivings felt by some experts about the reliability or integrity of the voting machines that are used to count and register ballots. Nor have I space to discuss the flagrant disenfranchisement of voters in the nation’s capital — a grotesque anomaly that seems on the face of it to be decidedly racist in both cause and effect. Conditions vary from state to state, so that question No. 7 for example would need to be measured differently according to local conditions.

But it’s already clear that self-policing is not enough in most jurisdictions. It’s also clear that the American mass media — chief recipient of the largesse raised and spent by candidates — has simply abdicated its watchdog role in the election process.

Some elements of the deficit of democracy in this country should have been put to the test long ago. The Supreme Court ought to have heard arguments about whether campaign donations constitute common-law bribery, and there is no reason not to ventilate the question of the Electoral College, with its inbuilt bias against urban and minority voters. However, these and other options are unlikely to be exercised unless the entire system is challenged in a thoroughgoing way. A monitoring force from the international community seems to me to provide the best chance for such an alteration in perspective. What is needed, therefore, is an appeal from a large group of respected Americans for such a monitoring force to be brought into being.

We have less than a year to refuse the front-loaded, bought-and-paid-for pseudo-election that is being prepared for us. Already, the primary process has been short-circuited, and it looks as if the presidential “debates” will be rigged as they were last time, by the same unelected and unaccountable corporate interests.

All those interested in signing an appeal for inspection, and for the verifying and certifying of an open political process, should contact Public Campaign at 1320 19th St NW, Suite M1, Washington DC 20036.

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An empire after all

Pat Buchanan's book is a loopy and inconsistent piece of Catholic fundamentalism that betrays a weird and self-destructive sympathy for the fascist cause.

Here is what Pat Buchanan’s hero, the “Lone Eagle,” Col. Charles Lindbergh, wrote in the November 1939 Reader’s Digest under the heading “Aviation, Geography and Race”:

Aviation is a tool especially shaped for Western hands, a scientific art which others only copy in a mediocre fashion; another barrier between the teeming millions of Asia and the Grecian inheritance of Europe — one of the priceless possessions which permit the White race to live at all in a pressing sea of Yellow, Black and Brown … We can have peace and security only as long as we band together to preserve that most priceless possession, our inheritance of European blood, only so long as we guard ourselves against attack by foreign armies and dilution by foreign races.

The best air force, wrote Lindbergh (who had accepted a large and swastika-infested medal from Reichsmarshall Herman Goering himself) was the German one. Now take another look at the date on the article. It’s still springtime for Hitler, but autumn for Poland and, soon, France. Winter is not far behind, for other and lesser peoples.

The question to ask about Lindbergh is not whether he was a crackpot and a racist. The above screed, and his infamous speech in Des Moines (“The greatest danger to this country lies in the large Jewish influence”) make the exercise superfluous. No, the question is, Why is an “isolationist” or a neutralist licking the boots of Goering, or having his own boots licked? Also, why is he echoing the wild theories of a putative “master race”? Surely the whole point of Fortress America is precisely to stay out of European quarrels and avoid taking sides?

Certainly that is how Buchanan himself claims to view matters. In the opening pages of his new book, “A Republic, Not an Empire,” he speaks easily and positively about George Washington’s Farewell Address and Thomas Jefferson’s warning against “entangling alliances.” I must say that I had no idea, when I watched Buchanan flacking for Nixon in Vietnam and shouting for Reagan in Grenada and positively sobbing with ecstasy over Col. Oliver North (his Lindbergh surrogate) that he had been such a closet stay-at-home all along. It would certainly have been impressive if he’d said so at the time. But his latest effort is not presented as any kind of re-think or self-criticism. Rather, it shows how highly compatible the concepts of expansionism and racism are with the ideas of the parochial and the nativist.

Here are two contrasting examples:

1) “Annexation of Texas, the Southwest, and California was Manifest Destiny, not imperialism.” (Page 122).

2) “In mid-March 1939 Hitler took a fateful step. He ordered his army into Prague and declared Czechoslovakia a Nazi protectorate. Poland and Hungary each bit off a chunk, and the Slovaks declared their independence … The injustice and folly of Versailles had now produced disaster.” (Page 258)

In the first example, American annexation is fine because, Buchanan says, it did not make Mexican citizens into a subject people (and because it was ordained by Heaven). In the second instance, he only just distinguishes between a possible German reunion with the Sudeten volk, for whom his heart still bleeds (far as they were from American shores) and a conquest and occupation of the whole of Czechoslovakia. Moreover, he blandly describes the Slovak puppet state, a contemptible subsidiary of the Third Reich, as having “declared independence.” The leader of that Slovak vassal statelet was of course Monsignor Josef Tiso, an ordained Catholic priest.

Having been accused by my critics of Catholic-bashing, and given that current anti-Catholic-bashing crusader Rudolph Giuliani remains one of the few prominent Republicans to have held his tongue on the subject of Buchanan — tongue-holding not being Mayor Giuliani’s everyday mode — I may as well say straightaway that Buchanan’s book is a loopy and inconsistent piece of Catholic fundamentalism and that this, and mainly this, is the reason for its weird and self-destructive sympathy for the fascist cause.

For example, the names Franco, Salazar, Mussolini, Pavelic, Horthy and Coughlin — the Vatican-sponsored clerical fascists — are almost entirely absent from the book. Yet Buchanan has spent a political career, and several essays in other books, defending all of them. A nativist Catholic sectarian is of course well within his rights to hymn local talents like Father Coughlin (and even Cardinal Spellman, though this seems to involve a relaxation of Buchanan’s position on gay rights). But how is it his business to decide the internal affairs of Spain, Portugal, Italy, Croatia and Hungary? Acid test: Buchanan demanded U.S. intervention in favor of the Croats in 1991 and opposed it for the Bosnians after 1992.

Another giveaway comes on Page 153, where Buchanan reveals that he’s been against the Spanish-American war all along: Playing a supporting role was the “black legend,” the “stereotype of Spaniards as blood-thirsty despots that Americans had inherited from their English forebears.” The Protestant press was up in arms over Spanish barbarities and wanted Catholic Spain driven out of the hemisphere in humiliation. “English forebears”? I thought that Buchanan was famous for wanting an Anglo-Saxon, or at least Anglo-Teutonic, immigration policy. But where he doesn’t “think with the blood,” he thinks with his sect. Nothing — nothing — could be more un-American.

I myself would vastly prefer a republic to an empire, which is why I wrote so much against the Buchanan-North campaign against Nicaragua and El Salvador — a campaign that knowingly involved imperialism abroad and subversion of the Constitution at home. It’s depressing to see liberal commentators — even some Nation contributors like Benjamin Schwartz and Christopher Layne — falling so easily for such demagogy and excusing Buchanan because he doesn’t like NAFTA or because he doesn’t care about Kosovo. The blunt fact is that the tradition of Lindbergh and Buchanan would not have kept America out of war, or innocent of overseas adventures. But it would have pledged a not-so-surreptitious neutrality to the other side in that conflict, and perhaps come by its empire that way.

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Our lady of lies

Stunningly politicized, painfully banal and too fraudulent for the pope to recognize, the Virgin of Medjugorje stands for the bloody ethnic hatreds in the former Yugoslavia

Before you ask, I should say that it’s pronounced med-you-gorey. This is worth stressing, because it’s almost the only thing about the place that is complicated in the least.

The non-facts are these: On June 24, 1981, a 14-year-old peasant girl, unoriginally named Ivanka Ivankovic, unoriginally came across a light that she took to be the Virgin Mary. Not many hours later, three other girls and two boys claimed to have had the identical experience, or sense-impression. Within a matter of weeks, thousands of the credulous had started to appear at the site, and it has now been trampled by millions. Those who turn up have emanated a number of false claims, such as the ability to stare calmly and without harm at the sun (a pointless achievement even if verifiable) and the more acquisitive and medieval capacity to turn their rosary beads into pure gold. Every sort of foolishness is indulged, and every green acre of this once backward village has been transmuted into a knick-knack mall.

Three things, however, distinguish Medjugorje from the average racketeering religious hub. First, the children claimed to go on seeing the Virgin Mary every day, and some of them keep up this claim to the present moment. Since she exists in their imaginations, and is not a weeping or bleeding statue of the traditional sort — smeared with pig’s fat or otherwise rigged — she is harder to expose than the more palpable frauds at the shrine of San Gennaro, say. Second, the Vatican and the local hierarchy will not, as they have with similar hallucinations at Fatima or Lourdes or Knock, bestow recognition on the supposed miracle. Third, the political element of this miracle is so obvious as to do what no cowled blue lady can do: make a non-believer catch his breath in wonder.

Part of the fraudulence of Medjugorje is manifested in its political opportunism The site is in the territory of Bosnia-Hercegovina, but it also lies within the area claimed and occupied by Croatian irredentists. In the unbelievably awful souvenir shops that pollute the entire landscape, the accepted local currency is the Croatian kuna, supposed by the Dayton accords to be illegal tender in these parts.

Here, the wreckage of an entire city and the ruin of an entire society is still open to view. The bridges are down, the minarets are amputated: In many parts of town there is still not one stone piled on another. And all this was done, in plain view of NATO, by Croatian government forces who had pictures of the Virgin taped to their rifle-butts. While the pilgrims chanted only a matter of miles away, and gave out stupid and cupiditous yelps about their rosaries turning into gold, the soldiers of Christ were methodically leveling every sign of the existence of another monotheism — Islam. They were also killing, deporting and torturing those of their fellow citizens who professed the wrong faith, or who didn’t profess the right one, or who professed no faith at all.

This episode of atrocity weighs still on the meditations of serious Catholics. It doesn’t weigh quite enough, or his holiness the pope would not have beatified the late Cardinal Alojzije Stepanic, who was the clerical face of the wartime Croatian Nazi regime led by Ante Pavelic. (If Pat Buchanan were a mere “isolationist,” rather than someone soft on fascism, he would not be such a strong supporter and endorser of the Croatian extreme right, past and present.) Still, even on that dismal occasion the holy father was constrained to utter a few words against genocide and sectarianism. And I imagine that it is this atrocity — unstated yet inescapable — that moves the church to speak softly but skeptically to its over-eager Medjugorje flock. Bad as things are, they are not so counter-ecumenical as to make us bow down before Our Lady of the Ustashe.

There is a principle or saying in the world of Catholic scholasticism: “Whatever is received is received in the manner of the receiver.” An alternative, or looser, rendering of the Latin would be: “Garbage in — garbage out.” The children were asked excitedly and often, and understandably, what the Virgin had said to them. They replied that she recommended prayer, Bible study, fasting and the rosary. The dullest Croatian parish priest could have said as much, a message worse than the pointless burblings from the beyond that are produced at spiritualist seances. A pretty young guide took me to see a statue of Our Lady outside an ugly new basilica in the center of town. “This one,” she breathed reverently, “is the one which the children say looks most like the apparition.” I gazed. The banal stone figure precisely resembled every wayside mass-produced Virgin I had ever seen. Perhaps this is why, from Guadeloupe to Knock, she only ever manifests herself to people who have been trained to recognize her.

By contrast to the reverence of Our Lady’s followers, the hostility of the local church hierarchy and (thus far) even of an extremely Marian pope is more difficult to explicate. But — as with the Vatican’s denunciation of the supposed apparition at Garabandal in Spain in the 1960s — we can make a good guess. People “channeling” the Virgin of Medjugorge have interpreted her as preferring the Franciscans to the Jesuits. None of her purported “healings” has survived even the scrutiny of the clerics at Lourdes. Pagan conduct and superstitious ecstasy has been observed at the site, as has the grossest commercialism. And anyway, as Aaron’s Old Testament competition with Pharoah’s sorcerers can attest, the ability to conjure is not in itself proof of a Christian or even monotheist God, because otherwise the polytheistic sorcerers wouldn’t be able to do it. (The latter point is not made by the pope, but it ought to be.) So holy mother church has reached a compromise, whereby the faithful are neither enjoined to worship at Medjugorge nor discouraged from doing so. On the verge of the millennium, Rome does not need another embarrassing bogus revelation.

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